she said she knew my style. knew, but cannot describe. she just knew it when she saw a pair of shoes or a bag or a dress through the mall’s window. “ah sure, it’s you.” she said as soon as I showed her my new giraffe-and-girl-cartoon-with-blue-sky-as-background designed wallet.
she knew my kind of books and songs and movies. she’d talk to me in the most possible exciting way. “you gotta like this new masterpiece!” and she was right, I liked them.
he knew the poems and authors I liked. he understood my gloomy writings and my 3 a.m delusional thoughts and my criticism towards injustice. “hahaha” mostly he debated, or he just laughed at my immature gestures and babbles.
he knew my love for some sports. he’d share the schedules on dry and wet. “lets see who’s winning” the season ended with a smile on my face; I supported anything correlated with my birthdate, they won a lot.
some people know me
some people doesn’t
or even both.
refreshing brain. fingers too, well.